An theater game played by improv Comedy troupes such as ComedySportz. Also seen on Whose Line Is It Anyway? It's not played very often, because it's very difficult.

Two players take the stage. A suggestion for a last line is given by the audience. One player speaks the last line, then they attempt to play out a meaningful scene from the line, ending when one player enters the room.

Often, players will end up waffling their way through the sketch as they try to figure out how to create causality for their current actions:

Player 1:"No, you can't borrow my car!"
Player 2:"Can I borrow your car?"
Player 1:"Why, my car can go twice as fast!"
Player 2:"I'll never get there in time in my car."
etc.

Well, first, which was last-she left the room and went home to her apartment. Now the why, that is a subject of some debate. Yes, there was a long and complicated argument which included, at various points, all of the following:
Stupid
insensitive
narrowminded
slutty

But before that there was a short conversation about the virtues of skirts cut up to here and the motives of men, as a species. That part was amusing, at least for awhile. As I replay this, I am thinking that is the part I would send in for a rewrite. I would pause right there, veer off into a playful wrestling match and let things take their natural course. But that is not, obviously, what happened.

When she first came over I was cooking pasta and warming up some day old garlic bread. I was kinda thinking it would be a quiet afternoon and I was happy to see her, especially considering the clothes she was wearing.

Skirt-lime green, covering about 4 inches of her thighs, T-shirt, black with Powerpuff girls punching their way out of it.

She was so hip and spunky, matching neon green hair clips and earrings (little fierce girls). I remember how I was thinking I was glad she was so fierce. Now, I can see that. Again, a reminder of why I wish my life had a pause button.


If he'd told me we were going to argue I would still have gone over. If I'd known he was going to think and say nasty words about what I wore, I would still have worn it; would not have hitched my skirt any higher to rail him, but would not have conceded, either. He forgets I am my own fierceness; it's not for him, though he may certainly look. And he does.

I left his room and went home to my apartment. I walked fast away from him. Left him holding unopened wine, baffled, maybe. Maybe he'd seen what was coming, maybe he knew he drove it.

But before that there was a short conversation about motives, him, he thinks motives are what get people places they want to go.

The conversation is not a real conversation. It is an amusement to him.

But before that there were his eyes when he opened the door, they traveled down me, yes, look, go on, it's been done before. It gets tedious. He enjoys looking; everyone enjoys looking; no one asks if I like it, no one thinks I can recognize him as soon as his eyes start traveling. Oh. You're one of them. All right, look. Had your fill? Not yet, I see. I'll stand here freezing in your doorway till you're done.

Log in or registerto write something here or to contact authors.